


Missing Mattress and a Dog

by Haberschnack



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Corvo is fed up, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Missing Mattress, Sorry Not Sorry, sad Corvo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 11:04:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15750387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haberschnack/pseuds/Haberschnack
Summary: Too tired, too worn thin and his mattress is gone. Corvo is not having a good time and the loyalists are ever demanding.





	Missing Mattress and a Dog

**Author's Note:**

> Ever notice that between getting Emily and kidnapping Sokolov Corvos mattress is gone.  
> That got me thinking... poor Corvo, I have to torture him some more.
> 
> I don't own anything and just love that game to bits!

That thing is just gone...  
  
It was not the first time he became aware of what was really going on, but this time he had no other way but coming to terms with it. His mattress was gone. Just gone. The empty bedframe sat in his filthy attic room, just starring at him. His mattress was gone. They just took it.

It was the last and obvious sign what these people thought of him.

Corvo Attano, the former proud and relayable protector was nothing more than a dog, a lowly animal whom they could just order doing their dirty work. Oder whatever and whenever his new “masters” wished it.

“Go there Corvo, kill that Corvo, roll over and play dead Corvo.“

He'd only just gotten Emily back. Out of that room in a brothel. Under the competent watch of Pendletons.

Bastards, rat faced humans, ill bread and vicious. Only thinking about what his Emily must have had endured and seen while under their “care” made his blood boil and his insides roll like eels. He needed to know if she was alright. Needed to talk to her about her mother.

Oh god, her mother. Jess, Jess covered in blood, a blade between her ribs. Emily crying for “Corvo” and he helplessly hanging in the air. Watching.

She could not be okay, not after six months. Did she grieve? For her mother and Corvo? He needed to make sure that she was okay, what she wasn't. Outsider, she was held captive in the “Golden Cat”... And he, Corvo, needed to make sure, that she was real. That he finally got her back.

It had been so hard to discern between reality and fantasy while he was still so week from Coldridge. His breakout, people who still thought he had a value and could be trusted. Meeting the first real friendly person in the boatsman Samuel and finally joining a cause that would bring Emily back to where she belonged and maybe help him to redeem himself and get his revenge from the people who used him and killed his love. His empress.  
The urge to vomit growing stonger he pressed his sweating face against the frame of his rooms door. Hah, his room, in the attic. Far away from all, but still near enough to be controlled through it, or the lack there of.

The lack of his mattress.

  
These people. These people, Martin, Pendleton, Havelock they used him. Telling him to fetch like he was a well trained dog. Eager to do their bidding at anytime.

Maybe they never saw him like something else, while he was guarding his Empress. Tail wagging at her side. The strange beast from Karnaka following every task and only listening to one master only.He'd lived at the pub for a month now and the implications were clear as day.

Yes, he had difficulties speaking. He'd never been the talkative guy and many nobles thought for years that he was too dimwitted to learn their language. But he'd talk enough, reported to his Empress, talked to guards and the Spymaster. But rarly for the sake of idle conversations. And after Coldridge, after that brute “Royal Interrogator” shoved a red hot glowing metal rod inside his mouth, taking a good part of his tongue with it, talking was nearly impossible. Not totally. He could still communicate. He'd made some friendly acquaintance with the women working at the hounds pits and even mutual respect with Piero. But even they sometimes shot him looks of wariness.

He knew he wasn't normal anymore, the sign on his left hand made it more than obvious. But he was still a human being, but they did not treat him like one.

Broken but still human.  
But they took his mattress...

Telling him very directly what and when he doit. Havelocks orders seemed to be not enough.

Now it was telling him in things taken that he needed to follow every word he and his silly group of “Loyalists” spoke like a creed. Like him being a dog, whose toys were withheld to get a piont across an d make him behave better.

Oh yes, he knew how they talked behind his back. Havelock even writing in his journal how convenient the former Lord protector is. How they needed someone to do their dirty work and how pleased they were to not get their own hands dirty. A blade to wield, something easy to order to kill, maim, because he was nothing more than a dog. Stupidly loyal to the house of Kaldwin and it's heiress.

Of course he wanted Emily on her rightful throne. Seeing to her becoming the woman her mother wanted her to be and her subjects needed.

Empress Emily Drexel Kaldwin the first of her name.

Getting revenge for her and maybe even for himself. If he even deserved that after failing. He knew his place in the grand scheme of this world, at Emily's side and hers to order and protect. Not the dog to do the Admirals, or Overseers fighting, like one of the hounds in this very pubs basement not long ago. Pushed into the ring, too hungry to care and croveling for his masters attention, killing, maming everything in his way. A thing he was more than sure of now.

The mattress missing and his bones aching with fatigue after running through Clavering Boulevard. The great joy he had felt when he held Emily in his arm was gone. Exhaustion rushed over him. It was a bit pathetic to feel this way because of a mattress. He had already known that they just wanted to use him, that he had no other worth than being their assassin. Their ready tool. And this last gesture of taking his mattress, like he was a child they could punish and control so easily. No, not a child, really a dog. Who was he kidding. He'd known that after all.

  
He sank down next to the empty bedframe, his head falling into his twitching hands. His head ached and his body was more than tired. So tired, that he couldn't even feel his numerous injuries. Healing badly.

No time to rest, not enough food, orders, orders, duty and Emily.

His Emily. He got her. Was this not enough to let him have a bit time. He just wanted to sleep, forget, just rest for a moment. And then he'd talk to Emily proper. Listen to her stories, reassure himself that she was real and was going to be okay. Maybe then he'd do what Havelock wanted. His burning eyes closed tightly as his body relaxed.

His head hit the dusty floorboards and he knew no more.  
  


 

 

* * *

 

 

He was awoken by a hard jab against his shoulder.

His confusion in his exhausted state told him that he was still in Coldridge, being woken up for another torture session. Flinching back he raised his hands frantically to shield his face. The last time he hadn't been fast enough he had lost his tongue. He'd been bound to that dreaded chair, burns all over his arms when they'd grabbed his face, pried his lips open and the “Royal Interrogator” pushing the rod inside.

The pain there was so new and raw. The metal fusing with his tongue. Becoming one and leaving with it when it was pulled back out. The blood pooling out of the gaping hole was nearly welcome when it gushed over his burned insides. It bled so much that the man had to push the now cooler rod back inside to seal his half missing tongue.

Corvo had wished in that moment to drown in his own blood before he felt that kind of pain again.But it had healed hasn't it. And he wasn't in Coldridge anymore, even tough the floor his face was pressed into felt the same as the slab of stone functioning as his bed in his cell.

Coming to this conclusion he finally opened his eyes. They were still burning with fatigue so he hadn't been asleep long.

The hard jab to his aching shoulder came again, accompanied by a nasal voice. Wallace was standing above him. His mouth pulled into a straight line, disapproving as always. And always with an order from his master's dear companoins. Who was the good dog here after all?

“Corvo, Admiral Havelock is hugely displeased with your tardiness. He is awaiting you in his office. Overseer Martin is also waiting with him.” the stuffy man told him in stern words. Turning abruptly away after delivering his message and going back down, most likely to bring his Lord more vine.

Corvo stayed on the floor until his legs felt a bit more like moving and his arms not so numb.

Getting back on two feet was painful but nothing new. The vertigo also a common occurrence since his stay in Coldridge. He pushed his greasy hair back from his face and rubbed over his tired eyes. His head was pounding again but that was most likely from hunger. He'd eat something on his way. Like he did a lot since coming here. He sighed when his gaze fell to the still empty bedframe.

Back to his duties. Back to being a dog. He trudged towards the open window with the metal walkway towards Emily's tower. He longed to be with her. But this needed to be done as the sun was nearly sunk under the horizon. He knew the plan, knew what those people wanted to him. No need to let Havelock and Martin haze him again with his duty to fulfill their orders. He'd go now, get Sokolov and then curl up next to Emily.

Afterwards he could show them that this dog still had teeth.

 

 

 

* * *

  
  
It was pitch black outside when he returned with a sleeping Sokolov over his shoulder. He only gave a greatful nod towards Samuel and ignored Havelock and Martin who had been impatiently waiting for his return.Before any one of them could utter a word he transversed onto Piero's balcony and from there to the roof.

The matress was back. But not long as he hauled the thing from it's frame again and pulled it over the roof towards the tower.

It cost him his last dredge of energy, but with Callistas help, who had been very startled by his nightly appearance, he got the mattress situated between Emily's and Callista's beds. Without removing his clothes he let himself sink down onto it and grasped for the small hand that hung over the other bedframe. The small body attached to it finally stilling from it's restless sleep and curling towards him.

 

  
The last thing he was aware of before sleep claimed him again were the sound of a key turning in a lock and a warm cover being spread over his body.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Could not sleep, sorry for this rambling thing but after playing Dishonored now for the... 15th/20th time some details get more prominent. And the mattress incident got me more thinking tonight because my own mattress is horrible and I wish I had a new one... at least I'm not as beat up as Corvo... aw that poor guy. Got a bit carried away with the tongue thing, sorry!!  
> So long, I think I'll brave my mattress now, most likely adopting my boyfriends bedside as my own, harr, harr and look over this thing again when my eyes are not burning that much XD  
> Good night
> 
> Ps.: Uhhh I'm so guilty because of Callista. I like her and her Uncle, but in my current runthrough of the game I let Curnow die and Callista is soooooo sad...


End file.
